


The Strongest Shape

by JazzhandsMcLeg



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, but only briefly this time, featuring my Guardian and her Ghost, more like polyARMORY am I right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzhandsMcLeg/pseuds/JazzhandsMcLeg
Summary: Reunited on the Farm, Ikora, Zavala, and Cayde face the Red War as they've faced every other challenge: as the Vanguard, which is to say, together.
Relationships: Cayde-6/Ikora Rey, Cayde-6/Ikora Rey/Zavala, Cayde-6/Zavala (Destiny), Ikora Rey/Zavala
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Strongest Shape

**Author's Note:**

> I love, love, _love_ the Vanguard as a poly trio. And I'm here to add my two cents to the pile!

Amara dropped Cayde off a handful of miles away with directions to head north until he hit the river, then follow it downstream until he reached the Farm.

“We’re sorry we can’t get you closer,” the Titan’s Ghost—his name was something citrusy—said politely, hovering backward over her shoulder. Amara herself didn’t turn around, focused on flying, but she tilted her head a little to show that she was listening. “Security measures.”

“Hey, buddy, no worries,” Cayde assured them both. “I’m a _Hunter,_ remember? I understand secrecy. And a little walk in the woods suits me just fine. At this time of year? Ain’t nothing better.”

“Right,” said the Ghost, Tangerine maybe, his tone dubious but still polite— _imagine that,_ Cayde thought. Sundance’s laughter shimmered like a heat mirage in their bond; he gave her a fond mental poke, trying and mostly succeeding in hiding his concern at how weak she felt. 

“Well,” Satsuma continued, “you shouldn’t run into any Fallen, at least. There’s a patrol presence. It’s one of the first things we set up when we got here.”

Not that he was surprised, but… “Are they, you know, expecting me?”

Amara ducked her head; though he couldn’t see her face he thought she smiled. “They are,” Tangelo promised. Nope, that wasn’t it either. “We’re still trying not to use comms too much, but we called ahead and filled them in. You’ll be going right past the Commander’s lookout post, actually. He wouldn’t shoot you.”

“Yeah, he’d better not,” Cayde said. “I’ve had my beautiful beautiful horn threatened enough for one day, thanks.”

“Right,” repeated Valencia—dammit—and fell silent, twirling his shell as he thought. “Here.” He turned to his Guardian; she adjusted a highly-modded lever, and the beat-up old ship slowed drastically, pulling to starboard. 

Well, he’d just have to ask for the Ghost’s name later. Cayde climbed to his feet, balancing carefully. _3…2…1,_ Sundance counted for him; then he was standing in the forest. Above him, the ship banked in a salute, then raised its nose and shot for the stars—shot for Io. Cayde raised his hand to block the high noon sun, peering after the ship until it was lost from sight. _Ikora._

Then he sighed, found north, and began to walk.

\---

It was his way to take what he could get in times like these. Some people let grief and doubt overwhelm them, sometimes to the point where they stopped running and thus died. Others would insist on pretending the crisis was less than it was; often, they died too. In Cayde’s well-informed and thus less-than-humble opinion, both types did themselves a disservice—and not just because of the price they paid. His philosophy was a large part of what had kept him in the Vanguard seat for as long as it had: the people he helped, the good times he shared with Zavala and Ikora, the way he felt when he finally had a chance to find what he missed—all of it made being tied to the Tower…bearable, usually, for all his joking and griping. Worth it, definitely.

Nothing could redeem this situation. People had died, been made homeless, been made afraid. The Guardians had lost their Light. But Cayde refused to allow it to be all doom and gloom, either. The sun was bright, the breeze wasn’t too cool, he wasn’t seriously injured or hungry, and he still had his Ghost. He was going to see Zavala again soon, and Shaxx, and, with any luck or grace, Ikora not long after. There would be Hunters’ work, not just Vanguard work, on the Farm. And Amara was the card in their back pocket. Anything else would have to come after that.

So, keeping his eyes and ears open, walking as quietly as he knew how, Cayde sank into the wild as only a Hunter could. He moved north with attentive care, marking the position of a beehive for future reference, listening to the noises of birds and game animals in the brush and noting with satisfaction the lack of any but the most distant of Fallen calls. He found the stream. He followed it downhill.

At last, Sundance said, _Ping network established. Zavala’s not far. Targe says fifty paces by a third, on your left. Camouflaged._

Cayde followed her instructions, now looking for one person in particular. He found him kneeling behind the roots of an ancient tree, one large enough to hide even a Titan and all his armor, with an unfamiliar scout rifle laid beside him. None of the rest of the gear was Zavala’s either, actually—that shiny red-and-silver plate he’d always worn in the Tower. Instead it was scarred, old, well-used and well-maintained, covered in green and brown and grey patterns. A spiderwebbing crack sprawled all across the dark visor of his helmet. For some reason the sight of him made a phantom lump rise in Cayde’s throat.

Okay, so he knew what the reason was. But Zavala was on sentry duty, and was currently gesturing Cayde to his side. There would be time later to think about that.

Cayde slipped over to his partner, settling into an easy crouch at his side. “Hey,” he murmured.

Zavala’s voice was equally quiet through his busted helmet. “Cayde. Hello.”

He scanned the woods around them; still nothing out of place. “You need me for somethin’?”

“Later, yes. But I wanted to see you.”

What was there to say to that? He crept a little closer and laid his hand on Zavala’s knee. “It’s good to see you too.” 

Zavala rested his own hand on top of it for a moment. “I’m relieved in three hours.”

Cayde rubbed his thumb over that scuffed armor just once, then pulled reluctantly away. “See you then.”

\---

The rest of the day passed in a blur: the check-in process (which, thank the Traveler, included a nap and something to eat), speaking with Hunters, speaking with Zavala, surveying their new ‘headquarters’ in an old barn, trading insults with Shaxx, speaking with the woman named Hawthorne. Then a small supper, followed by another round of discussion and planning. It was very late at night by the time Cayde, absentmindedly sorting through the day’s reports in preparation for tomorrow’s closer examination, glanced up and caught Zavala dozing over his datapad.

All three of them were usually night owls, though their late-night occupations of choice were very different. These were not, however, usual times, and there was no point in anyone working themselves to exhaustion. So he kicked Zavala’s shin under the table to wake him up, then ushered him out of the barn before he could protest—also before Cayde realized he had no idea where Zavala had been sleeping, or where he himself would rest. 

Well, fake it ‘til you make it. He walked down east, Zavala in tow, in a guess based on the number of tents and makeshift shelters he’d seen there earlier that afternoon. Zavala didn’t correct him, so he must have been right; as they neared the cluster of tents, he took the lead, guiding Cayde toward one in particular.

It was dark in the tent, of course, and neither of their Ghosts emerged to light the space, but that was no problem for most Exos. Zavala had no difficulty either, more because there was nothing to trip over than because he could see where he was going. The tiny shelter held only two heaps of cloth: one, set in the back corner, sat angularly in a way that suggested it held armor or weapons. The other, stretched across the left side of the tent, was clearly a makeshift pallet, though it must have been far too thin to cushion Zavala comfortably.

He whistled, very softly—except for the night sentries, maybe Hawthorne, and some of the cooks, the rest of the camp was already asleep. “Nice digs.”

“Will you stay?”

Cayde tilted his head, taken aback. “Thought we were hard up for space.”

“We are.”

“What are you even asking for, then?” And the dark, close quarters made it easy for him to add, “Be hard-pressed to fall asleep anyhow, without…” He trailed off and shrugged, expansively enough that Zavala could probably see it in the sliver of moonlight that fell through the still-open flap.

“Quite,” he said a little drily, and turned to leave.

“What? Zavala—”

“I just need to find Hawthorne. A final check.”

He sighed. “I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll return in a moment.”

\---

Cayde stood in Zavala’s tent, one hand holding up the open flap, and listened: the wind in the trees. An owl or its prey screeching, just once, in the distance. And there: soft, tired footsteps, drawing nearer. When they reached the tent he opened his eyes and stood to one side, letting Zavala in; once his partner was inside he dropped his hand, and the fabric fell.

Zavala took a single step forward and caught Cayde up in a tight embrace; he stood just on his tiptoes so that he could rest his face on his still-armored shoulder, then wound his arms around Zavala’s waist to hold him closer. They clung to one another for a long moment, breathing softly in the silence.

No Light, no Ikora. But Zavala’s weight was warm and familiar, and beneath the scent of strange metal and a faint whiff of methane he smelled reassuringly of dirt and fresh air and sweat. Cayde took a deep breath, and felt his shoulders drop. Zavala must have felt it, too; he spread one hand to press his palm against Cayde’s back, pulling him just a little bit closer.

“I missed you,” he said after a minute. “I wasn’t sure if…”

“Yeah,” Cayde managed, and cleared his throat. “When everything went down…couldn’t bring myself to think that maybe you’d—yeah. I missed you too.”

At last they separated, though only so they could lie together on the thin pallet. As usual, there was a little tussle over the best position—how to keep Cayde’s horn from poking Zavala, who should have their back to the wall—rendered even more serious by Zavala’s refusal to take off his borrowed armor and the new tactical implications of facing the wall versus the door. Finally, they settled with Cayde as the little spoon, both of them facing the closed tent flap.

Zavala brought his hand up to the vulnerable spot at the base of Cayde’s throat and pressed his face to the back of his head with a sigh. Cayde tucked his cloak a little more securely around them both and entwined his fingers with Zavala’s. 

It wasn’t everything. But it was _better,_ and it was Cayde’s way to take what he could get in times like these. 

He fell asleep to the steady rhythm of Zavala’s breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, editing this fic post- _A Play of Shadow and Light:_ TAAAARGE!!!
> 
> Expect an update sometime in mid-February! In the meantime, you can come talk to me about Destiny at hencegoodfortune.tumblr.com.


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